


Gabardine

by fideliant



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fideliant/pseuds/fideliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitting rooms have locks for a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gabardine

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on a text post I saw a while back about how depressing it was that Harry never actually got to see Eggsy in the suit he had made for him ~~before the end of the movie and then saw it afterwards when he FUCKING LIVED~~ \-- this is my response to that. I could say I wrote this from the get-go with no intention of turning it into porn, but then I'd be lying.

 

The Harry situation turns into a little bit of a problem when Eggsy walks into the Kingsman infirmary and finds the posh bastard lying there, quiet and still and very, very comatose.

It’s just that, okay. Never mind the fact that until now nobody else has ever given as much of a shit as Harry about getting Eggsy’s life turned around for whatever reason or another. And especially never mind the fact that Harry being the ball-bustingly gorgeous grade A _fucking perfect_ gentleman that he is, the massive hard-on that Eggsy’s been nursing for him over the past few months has been like none other before.

The point is, Eggsy isn’t thinking about any of that in the moment his chest goes tight from seeing Harry lying in that hospital bed, which leads him to wonder if the all of the things he’s felt ever since laying eyes on the man could amount to something more than the puppy love he’s been trying to convince himself it is.

_Make him proud_ , Merlin says, and if this were three months ago Eggsy would have rolled his eyes and told him to come the fuck off it. But as it is, Eggsy’s had three months of slogging his guts through the indignity of basic training, and he goes through another three months more for a total of half a year of giving it everything he’s got whilst thinking, at times, not of his dad or mum or even himself, but rather the look that’d be waiting on Harry face after Eggsy trumps everybody else to come out on top at the end, so.

So.

It’s probably better not to do anything about it, Eggsy decides. There’s probably nothing that _can_ be done about it, beyond the occasional guilty wank to a myriad of new up-and-coming sexual fantasies that all revolve around Harry. Someone somewhere is definitely rubbing one out over that man at any given point in time and it may as well be Eggsy, because he at least has the decency to feel cheap and deflated about it afterwards. He doesn’t know what the policy regarding workplace romance among Kingsmen is, but it doesn’t take much to figure that any candidate-mentor hanky panky is a no-go, not to mention with all the suaveness and fucking class Harry commands he’s so far out of Eggsy’s league it’s not even funny.

So yeah, that sounds about the safest thing to do, clamming up and leaving it for now, even if that’s easier said than fucking done. Harry smiles at him, and Eggsy can’t help but think with a strange fluttering feeling inside him that his little problem might not be so little after all.

 

***

 

Kingsman suits may be bulletproof, fireproof, and fuck-knows-what-else proof, but Eggsy still can’t wrap his brain around why it takes so many fittings to get one finished. The first time round Eggsy’s thinking they’re pretty much done after he’s had what feels like every body part of his measured save his knob, then just as Harry gets back from stalking Valentine or whatever fuckshit he’s been up to, the attending tailor leaves them with instructions to come back to the shop for two additional fittings tomorrow, and one final fitting on the morning after.

Eggsy has no idea when or where the deciding task for the new Lancelot is going to happen, but Harry seems cool with having those appointments pencilled in for him, so Eggsy reckons it ain’t gonna be too soon. At least not until after his suit’s finished.

Sure enough, neither him nor Roxy hear anything from Merlin or Arthur the following day, though Eggsy spends most of his third fitting in the afternoon worrying that he might be missing something back at the mansion. It turns out that he hasn’t, and they still get told squat the next morning, so whatever, it’s not like Eggsy’s gonna complain about being given more room to chill a while longer.

The shop’s about ten minutes from the mansion by the underground monorail, and Eggsy checks his watch as he’s riding the elevator up to confirm that he’s not late. He hasn’t seen Harry since getting dropped off at the mansion two nights ago, and Roxy had said something about a total embargo on any further contact with their mentors until after the final task, which is why it’s rather an _oh_ moment when Eggsy steps out and Harry’s there, chatting animatedly with both the store manager and Eggsy’s tailor at the front desk.

“Eggsy!” Harry smiles and waves when he sees him. “Right on time. Walter’s just been telling me your suit’s ready to try on.”

Caught off guard, Eggsy waves back without saying anything. On one hand, he can’t deny that it’s nice to see Harry again, but on the other Eggsy isn’t sure whether talking to him constitutes a breach of whatever rules that govern the selection process, and he’ll be damned if he gets screwed over at this stage by a technicality.

“Just in there, if you don’t mind, sir,” his tailor says, gesturing towards fitting room two. Eggsy nods, a little wary but mostly unsure, and enters through the door that’s held open for him, mumbling his thanks as he does.

He’s not expecting Harry to follow him inside, thank the tailor as well, and shut the door so it’s only the two of them in the room.

“Uh.” Eggsy looks at the door, which Harry locks with a click. “I thought that, er. Isn’t he supposed to be fitting my suit for me, or something?”

“Walter has very kindly agreed to allow me to take over for your last fitting.” As he speaks, Harry rifles through the standing wardrobe and selects one of the leather garment bags hanging inside. He smiles reassuringly over his shoulder, possibly mistaking Eggsy’s guarded look for one of unease. “Not to worry, you’re still in very capable hands. I am a Kingsman tailor, after all.”

Eggsy watches Harry open up the bag and lay out his new suit over a counter, piece by piece. “Roxy was telling me…”

“Hm?” A crisp white dress shirt, a pair of pressed pinstripe blue trousers, and Harry lifts each item up on its hanger in turn, nodding approvingly upon close inspection. “And what was Miss Morton telling you?” he asks, when Eggsy doesn’t continue.

So prompted, Eggsy’s brain finally catches up and he blurts, “Roxy said Percival said we ain’t supposed to be talking to each other, this close to the last test.”

“That would most certainly be the case, if we were meeting with the intention of discussing said test. Which, unless if I’m mistaken, we are not.” Harry offers both shirt and trousers to Eggsy. “Here you go. You can start getting dressed and we’ll see if all of this fits you properly.”

Eggsy looks between the two articles of clothing, then back to Harry. “Now?”

Harry smiles at him with too much patience for how idiotic a question Eggsy belatedly realises it sounds. “Yes, Eggsy. If you don’t mind.”

Eggsy doesn’t mind, not really, but. Harry clearly isn’t leaving the room any time soon, and Eggsy’s sure as hell not going to ask two stupid questions in a row, so he hangs everything on the wall pegs next to the mirror along with his cap and starts taking off his clothes. First the ASBO-baiting hoodie he’s got on because he didn’t fucking know Harry would be here, did he, otherwise Eggsy would’ve thought more about putting together a less shitty getup to lumber his sorry arse here in this morning. After shedding his sneakers and socks, Eggsy’s day clothes aren’t any much better — a white crewneck tee shirt with grey sweatpants — and he decidedly does not check to see if Harry’s looking before stripping down to his briefs, even as he feels his face fill with the flush he’s doing everything he can to ignore.

“You’ll be needing this too,” Harry says, coming over to him and hanging up Eggsy’s suit jacket, and fuck, there’s that question answered. Still, Eggsy avoids Harry’s eyes as he moves to claim his dress shirt, but stops and blinks when he’s greeted with an empty hanger.

It takes a second for him to realise that Harry’s holding it up behind him with both hands, unbuttoned and open and ready to wear.

“Much less harder to crease one of these, if you’ve got some help wearing them,” Harry explains.

If it was anyone else Eggsy would promptly take offence to the implication that he doesn’t know how to put a shirt on properly, but all Eggsy does is pop his hands obediently into the armholes and try not to shudder as Harry slides it up his shoulders. The fabric is soft and light, the top-shelf quality of it evident against his skin. He feels Harry’s fingers graze his collarbones briefly, and Eggsy quickly focuses on doing up the buttons himself, a welcome distraction from the way his heart fucking _jumps_ at that.

“Do let me know if anything needs altering,” Harry says, handing Eggsy’s trousers and a brown leather belt to him. “A bespoke suit should always fit, but it’s generally best practice to make sure.”

“So if it don’t, am I gonna get my money back?” Eggsy quips. Miracle of miracles, the joke comes out steady.

A small smile curls the corner of Harry’s mouth, and _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Eggsy thinks. If he doesn’t get it together in the next thirty seconds he’s going to have to find a way to escape and drown himself in the store toilet.

“If you were a paying client, then yes,” Harry says. “We as Kingsmen are not entitled to that privilege, I’m afraid.”

“I ain’t a Kingsman,” Eggsy points out, tugging his trousers on and belting them up.

“Well, no. Not yet,” Harry allows, and then without warning his hands are warm at Eggsy’s lower back, tucking his shirttails in and moving along his waist to smoothen out creases, _holy fuck_. Eggsy has to summon up all of his self-control and then some to hold himself still, to not reach behind him and put his hands over Harry’s. Instead, he fiddles with his starched-stiff collar, sweeping his fingers under the fabric and pretending to straighten it, all the while tamping down on the urge to lean back against Harry and rest his head on his shoulder, to mouth at the skin of his neck, to kiss him.

“Y’think it’s gonna be me, then?” Eggsy manages, mouth already watering.

“I’ve no reason not to.” Harry steps around him, and a clinking sound alerts Eggsy to the sterling silver cufflinks in his upturned palm. With the other, Harry makes a beckoning motion, and Eggsy lifts his wrists to allow Harry to fasten his cuffs for him.

Facing each other at this distance, Eggsy is helpless to resist staring at Harry’s mouth, the cleft in his chin, at the fine lines of his face until Harry’s gaze ticks up and meets his. In that split second of eye contact, heat floods Eggsy’s face and he looks down immediately, to Harry’s elegant hands and the movement of his fingers, which is somehow both better and worse than looking directly at him.

After Harry’s finished, he returns to where he left the garment bag and produces a pair of socks and black Oxford shoes. Eggsy’s all too grateful for being given something else to occupy himself with, but he can only take so long with tying his laces, and when he stands up he’s presented with his tie, a slender swatch of dark blue cloth striped with red, white-bordered bands.

“Bulletproof as well, you’ll find,” Harry tells him, and fuck if Eggsy deludes himself into thinking he actually sounds _fond_. “Or hopefully not. We’ll see.”

Eggsy doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say to that, so he palms the tie and loops the short end around his neck, tying it into a full Windsor the way Harry showed him not too long ago. A couple loops here, a practised turn there, and he’s pushing the completed knot up to seat it in the apex of his buttoned collar.

“I see you’ve been paying attention in your lessons,” Harry notes, observing him.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I,” Eggsy replies, and the broad smile this gets from Harry makes him go warm all over, stupidly pleased with himself.

“I suppose not,” Harry says musingly, with something like a glint in his eye. “Everything fitting you alright so far?”

“Mm, yeah. I guess.” Eggsy turns from side to side, testing out the perfectly tailored fit of his shirt and trousers. “Feels okay to me.”

“That’s good.” Now Eggsy’s suit jacket — double-breasted, peak lapels, and in the exact same colour and design as his trousers to match — and once more Eggsy has to force himself to behave as Harry draws it up and around him. It’s no more easier than the last time, especially with Harry carefully running his hands over Eggsy’s shoulders to even out the fabric, or at least that has to be why he’s doing it, Eggsy thinks.

“Smooth,” he mumbles.

“It is, is it not?” Harry moves on to neaten the border created by Eggsy’s shirt and jacket collars, ensuring that the latter only just encroaches onto the former. “A gabardine, polyester and hydrocarbon fibre blend. Exclusive to Kingsman agents, of course.”

“And me, if I don’t end up gettin’ the job,” Eggsy points out, another swing at some levity whilst he finishes the last button.

He senses rather than sees Harry’s smile, and Harry says, “You must know that I have faith in you, dear boy.”

Then, Harry takes him by the shoulders and directs him to face the mirror.

At the sight of his reflection in the glass, Eggsy… stops. He blinks and stares, mouth ajar with what might have been an _oh_ attempting to form, but no noise escapes him. He’s never worn a suit before, never had any real need or occasion to, and even in light of recent events, it hasn’t actually occurred to him to envision how he would look in one.

“Like a glove,” Harry says, and Christ, does Eggsy get where that’s coming from. Whatever he was expecting, or would have expected if he’d known how skillful Kingsman tailors really are, none of it could have prepared him for _this_. The suit is an absolutely perfect fit, its pinstripe design exploiting the sturdy build of Eggsy’s body to show his height to good advantage. Slim-fit and boldly blue, his jacket produces a handsome contrast against the white of his shirt, compelling the eye towards his neckline and trim shoulders. And the tie, with dashes of red pathing a trail up to the base of Eggsy’s throat, then his face. Admittedly, his hair could be far less shite with a bit of grooming but for the most part, as it is —

“Fuck me,” Eggsy breathes, all mannerly concerns forgotten.

“Yes,” Harry says, with what could almost be reverential awe, his gaze continuing to hold nothing but Eggsy, only Eggsy. “One most certainly would.”

For the nth time that day, Eggsy’s _everything_ just shorts out like one big static discharge, only now it’s followed by a wave of incredulity as he swivels his head to gape at Harry, who looks back at him with an expression that is neither uncertain nor apologetic.

It takes Eggsy several stunned seconds for that expression to convince him he didn’t just mishear.

Harry’s hands drift to Eggsy’s hips, tentative at first, then settling there in an anchoring touch.

Doubling down, Eggsy lifts his chin a bare inch.

Harry lowers his face in the opposite direction.

Just like that, it’s all but impossible for Eggsy not to push up onto the balls of his feet and kiss Harry, hands clenching into fists to steel himself, which is sort of doing things the wrong way round, isn’t it, but — he can’t think past how very close they are, the firm counterpressure of Harry’s lips against his own, and Eggsy’s pulse is bounding in his throat, out of control, like all the blood rushing up into his face. He feels Harry pull him in and goes along with it, one hand gravitating to the front of Harry’s jacket as he clutches at Harry’s arm with the other. His head pounds and he’s blazing all over, a heat building inside his chest like a nuclear bomb about to go critical, but then Harry sighs against his mouth and that’s the moment Eggsy remembers to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, voice gone gravelly, and, “ _Fuck._ ”

“Quite,” Harry murmurs. He dips his head, slanting forward to meet Eggsy’s mouth a second time. This kiss is deeper than the first, and Eggsy curls his fingers into Harry’s lapel, their noses brushing a little. He wants to press further but doesn’t dare, not just yet, content with savouring the texture of Harry’s lower lip for the moment.

“So this is why you wanted to take my last fitting,” Eggsy says, the only reasonably coherent thing that comes to mind.

Harry smiles, eyes sharp and twinkling behind his glasses. “What? I’m not allowed to come and be proud of what I’ve helped bring to fruition?”

Eggsy snorts, “Like hell that’s all you’re here for.”

“Mm.” The corner of his mouth quirking up, Harry lays a hand across the nape of Eggsy’s neck. “And would I be remiss in presuming you might be here for the same thing?”

If Eggsy could think of a smart retort to that, he’s still not in any state to deliver it with even a fraction of his usual aplomb. So instead, he blurts out, “Just fucking kiss me, you twunt,” before leveraging Harry back down tie-first, and almost knocks Harry’s tortoiseshell glasses askew in his haste to press their mouths together. He kisses Harry’s open in minute increments, startling at the first brush of tongue on tongue, inviting him to lick inside, and Eggsy can barely keep back a moan when Harry gives him a good long suck that makes his cock twitch with envy.

“No need to be so abashed, dear boy,” Harry rumbles, sporting what has to be a gentleman’s version of a shit-eating grin, and Eggsy wants to, god, he wants to tackle Harry to the ground and hold him down, to muss up his perfect hair and clothes and spread him open, to do things to him so he won’t, won’t be able to sound so — fuck, how does anyone even sound that pleased with themselves while snogging another person, _how?_

“I ain’t,” Eggsy says thickly, and helps himself to Harry’s ridiculously plush mouth again, giving him more tongue now that he knows Harry’s the sort who’s fine with that, “fuckin’ _abashed_ , mate.”

“No? I’d say you were most convincing to that effect whilst I was dressing you this morning.” This close to him, Harry looks smug and knowing and borderline predatory, such that Eggsy feels a shiver tingling up his spine. “Or are you insinuating that I misread one way or another?”

Jesus Christ, there he goes again. Eggsy has no idea where to begin with responding to that, is already half out of his mind from Harry’s _hands_ and his _mouth_ and the way Harry’s stubble rasps against his chin as they kiss, the gritty tactile sensation of it making it so much more acutely intimate than Eggsy could have imagined. He shifts his weight to stand less awkwardly, Harry holding him by neck and arse, and it’s entirely an accidental motion at first but then he’s rolling his hips over and over, grinding his tented erection into Harry’s leg.

“Excited, aren’t we,” Harry remarks, plainly amused.

For that, Eggsy slides his mouth along Harry’s jaw to suck a mark against his neck, too high up to completely conceal even with an upturned coat collar. At any rate, Harry doesn’t seem to mind either the rutting or the love bite in the slightest. He chuckles over Eggsy’s head, stroking languid fingers through his hair. The hand parked at Eggsy’s arse grips just that much harder before circumnavigating to his front for even more action, yeah, Harry’s properly feeling him up now, the pervy toff. Eggsy bucks against his palm, still seeking purchase that Harry supplies as he gropes Eggsy through his tailored trousers with full impunity.

It takes Eggsy a while to realise that Harry’s tugging at his belt, unbuttoning Eggsy’s trousers and popping his fly open, and oh, hello. The feeling of a warm palm against his stomach sends a shudder riding over his shoulders, and Eggsy clutches at Harry’s sides, sucking a breath in when Harry treks lower to dip into the elastic waistband of his briefs.

Fuck, Harry’s hand. He starts off with a light touch, fingers teasing at the prospect of some heavy petting before he commits, smoothing along his stiffened length and squeezing him firmly in a power grip. Eggsy hisses through his teeth, peels away from Harry’s throat to gasp, “Shit, now?” in spite of himself, and Harry, lovely Harry, responds by twisting his palm around Eggsy’s cock in one dragged-out fondle that has Eggsy biting back several more curse words.

“I did lock the door for a reason,” Harry points out, the words more thundering lust than friendly reminder.

“Thought that was just what you’re supposed to do with fitting rooms,” Eggsy pants in an approximation of yet another token objection.

Harry smiles. “Yes, you’re not wrong to say that,” he says, obviously indulging Eggsy whilst carrying on with his ministrations down below, wholly unseen but very much felt. “But one may desire privacy for… other things, as well.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy licks his lips, which already feel bruised and lax, deliciously plush from all the kissing. God knows it’s not his first time shagging in a semi-public area, but just the thought that it’s _Harry_ thrills him like rarely anything else has before. “What sorts of things you talkin’ bout?”

The smirk he flashes Harry lives a short life, smothered by a kiss that stuns him for all Eggsy anticipated it but didn’t see coming. Harry says gruffly, “Best if I show rather than tell,” and who is Eggsy to argue with that, really, so he lets the groan at the back of his throat break free and gives in to the kissing, the touching, to whatever the fuck it is that’s going on right now.

They must move at some point, even if Eggsy doesn’t remember it, because all of a sudden his shoulder blades hit solid wood and the top of his head thunks dully against the wall. In this new position he’s trapped, unable to wriggle loose if he wanted to, which is alright with him, frankly — there’s nothing in the world he wants less than that. Harry’s lips find his ear before moving to his neck, where he alternates between scoring skin with teeth and soothing the same spots over with fleeting touches of tongue. Eggsy can’t help but ride up into the sensation of Harry’s mouth at his throat and Harry’s hand around his cock, desperate for so much more than he’s getting.

“Christ, Harry —”

The rest of that is cut off by the hand Harry clamps over his mouth and nose. “Shh,” Harry admonishes, then slides two fingers into Eggsy’s mouth at the same time that he jerks the wrist of his other hand to hike Eggsy’s briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free. Eggsy sucks on Harry’s fingers reflexively, moaning around his knuckles, entire body throbbing from head to cock, and if he looks even half as debauched as he feels it’s a good thing Harry’s blocking his view of the mirror across the room.

They keep this up, Harry simultaneously finger-fucking Eggsy’s throat and wanking him off, and all Eggsy can do is lean sprawled against the wall with his heels dug into the ground and his fingers in Harry’s back. His skin is hot and damp and he’s pre-orgasm dizzied, gurgling out breathless noises until Harry extricates his spit-slick fingers and reverts to kissing Eggsy like he’s trying to put them both through the wall.

In the end the wall holds, and when Harry lays off for a second Eggsy teases, “Looks like I ain’t the only one who’s excited,” earning himself another bite at his throat and sparks in his crotch from Harry’s stomach rubbing punishingly against the sticky tip of his cock, edging him closer to overstimulation, _fuck_.

“And can you fault me, Eggsy, my dear?” Harry says. Holding Eggsy against himself, he’s crowded close enough for Eggsy to feel the rumbling riot of his voice through his chest. “The way you look —” Harry kisses Eggsy, “— then and right now,” pulls and strokes Eggsy’s cock, playing with foreskin and pressure, “you must know how very difficult it is —” as he tucks a thumb into the corner of Eggsy’s mouth and grins wickedly, “— for me not to consume you _whole_.”

Eggsy whines, whines and whimpers and he can hardly keep his eyes open, all of his nerves and muscles jumping like water flicked onto a hot stove. He feels his cock dribble out even more precome over Harry’s fingers, feels just about overwhelmed by friction and wet sliding heat where he needs it. Harry works him faster, thumbing at his slit and Eggsy chokes on air, stiffening up and shaking apart as pleasure slurries all the way down into his cock. He lets out a garbled warning that barely resembles the words it should be made of, and Harry kisses him through it, rides Eggsy’s orgasm out with him.

Eggsy swears he must black out for the briefest of moments, because he only registers that Harry has produced a handkerchief after he’s done coming into it. His face is burning and his pulse hammers away in his ears, a frantic runaway _thud thud thud_ that slowly settles back down along with his breathing. He melts into the afterglow a panting mess, hanging on for dear life with the arms he’s looped around Harry’s neck.

“Alright, then?” Harry murmurs, low and adoring as the warmth in his eyes, and fuck, Eggsy would do anything Harry asked of him, no question about it. “There we are, just relax, Eggsy. I’ve got you.”

He does, doesn’t he, Eggsy thinks giddily, when the parts of his brain that shut down mid-orgasm begin to putter back online. Eggsy feels more taken care of than he ever has in his life, and he’s never been the kind of person who needs that, to have someone to protect him from the big bad world. But here, bundled up in Harry’s arms like this, Eggsy’s feelings for him bubble up into effervescence, and he wants with an intensity he never thought could be humanly possible.

His clumsy hands fail to make short work of Harry’s belt and trousers, but manage the job eventually. Easing Harry out of his pants, Eggsy can’t get to his knees anywhere near quickly enough, his feet planting flat against the wall behind him as he does so. At full mast Harry is nice and thick, almost pornographically so, his impressive length accentuated further by the pair of veins running up either side of it. They provide useful contours for Eggsy to lick a trail up Harry’s cock, and it takes all of his self-control not to swallow Harry down right away, to just let the head push past his lips and seal his mouth around it.

Eggsy hasn’t had a prick in his mouth in a while — the last had been his CO’s in the Marines, a greying late-40s major who had insisted on being called _Sir_ even while pounding Eggsy’s arse raw — but Jesus god, has he missed it. Missed the familiar weight on his tongue and the salty-sourish taste of precome and sweat, the heavy musky scent and fingers kneading his hair — Eggsy knows what he's doing, is the point, and wants to take his time, most of all for Harry to enjoy this. He goes slowly, keeping his suction gentle and taking in a little more of Harry’s cock each time. Sparing Harry his teeth for the time being, he curls his tongue against the foreskin to lick it back under the head instead. If there’s anything Eggsy knows for sure, it’s that Harry likes it when he uses his tongue.

Harry groans, _“Eggsy,”_ and pushes forward, in and then out. Taking this as his cue, Eggsy bobs his head to slide his lips along the shaft, a lazy back-and-forth that picks up when Harry starts to fuck his face. Eggsy grabs at Harry’s hip for balance, knees beginning to protest, and Harry tightens his fingers in Eggsy’s hair. They find some semblance of rhythm, Harry thrusting, Eggsy hollowing his cheeks and sucking in earnest.

“Lovely,” Harry sighs. Eggsy looks up at him, into dark brown eyes blown wide with arousal, and muffles a moan into the cock bulging his cheek outwards. But they can definitely do better than that, he’s yet to take Harry all the way in and Eggsy isn’t actually sure if he can, except Harry holds him by the back of his head and leaves him no choice in the matter, rocking deeper and deeper inside until Eggsy’s nose is pressed to his navel and he’s struggling to breathe around Harry’s cock.

Another satisfied groan, and then Harry is moving again, fucking into Eggsy’s throat with quick, firm jerks. Eggsy winches his jaw wider and flattens his tongue in an attempt to make more room, but it’s too little and too late and he ends up choking all the same, which should be humiliating rather than intoxicating but Eggsy just wants more, _fuck_ yes. Harry grunts more encouragement, his breathing going more ragged, and comes on a particularly bruising push in, keeps on thrusting like Eggsy isn’t gagging on cock and coughing up whatever spunk he can’t swallow down fast enough.

“Christ, Eggsy,” Harry gasps, sounding — fucking finally — _wrecked,_ which means that he can; good to know, Eggsy supposes. He sucks Harry some more before he can go soft, just to drag out the remainder of his pleasure, and then Harry’s pulling out and hunkering down to join him on the floor, where he tips Eggsy’s face up to dab at his mouth with a handkerchief.

“Hope that ain’t the same one from just now,” Eggsy mumbles, even though he knows it’s not, even though it wouldn’t be a problem if it was. It’s hard to care about something like that when he’s lightheaded and well-shagged, dozy from lack of air that’s only just starting to return to his lungs.

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. “I always know to keep a spare on myself,” he says, running the handkerchief over Eggsy’s upper lip.

Eggsy cracks a grin that he really hopes Harry is going to try and kiss off his face. “D’you end up using your spares often?”

“No more often than usual,” Harry answers, and gives Eggsy what he wants after pocketing his handkerchief. “Just as and when I need to.”

“… that a _yes?”_

To this, Harry raises a sharp eyebrow that doesn’t efface his small wry smile. “I don’t know,” he says. “What do you think?”

Eggsy considers it for a few seconds, and asks, as straight-faced as he can, “How many suits do you reckon a new Kingsman will have to make?”

“A fair few,” Harry admits.

Meaning _a lot,_ then. “Is it gonna be like this all the time?” Eggsy asks.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean," Eggsy shrugs the best he can all fucked-out and slumped in a heap against the wall, "Are you gonna be here for all my last fittings?"

Harry’s eyes gleam. “If you would like me to.”

“You might want to start carrying around more of them hankies, then,” Eggsy tells him, and Harry laughs again as he's hauled closer for a kiss, and god, Eggsy already can’t fucking _wait_.

After all, fitting rooms have locks for a reason.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't tagged this PWP because it's approximately half of each, but you're certainly more than welcome to think of it as such. ;-)


End file.
